


Your Finest Bottle of Champagne

by GalaxyLucia



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Anal Fingering, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Guess who, Howard and Maria Stark are alive, Inspired by Music, IronStrange, M/M, Nine Inch Nails, Not a musical, Plot Twist, Portishead, Safe Sane and Consensual, Somebody's a power bottom, Story set in the 90s, Stripper!Stephen, Strippers & Strip Clubs, There will be music lyrics, Tony Stark-centric, Tony's POV, fluff-to-smut ratio 3-to-1, there is a plot with porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 02:56:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15720555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyLucia/pseuds/GalaxyLucia
Summary: “What are you doing here? Seriously?”“Occasionally, I give special performances to cute boys who don’t make a grab at my ass the first chance they get.”“Oh, so you think I’m cute?”Tony gasped as the stripper twerked on his dick with expert efficiency.----Stephen Strange is a guy from Nebraska working hard to save up for medical school. Working hard in a thong.Tony Stark is a genius dork who doesn’t know how to shut up during lap dances.Lucky for him, Stephen is good at leaving him speechless.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (1) Based on this tumblr post: https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/galaxylucia/176502628133  
> (2) Inspiration for some scenes were taken from Magic Mike (2012) and my all-time favorite movie, Go (1999).  
> (3) I feel like this took FOREVER to write and revise, but I’m learning how to improve my editing skills for my work. I tried out a new process this time.
> 
> Final edit: 4 October 2018

“Ugh, I can’t believe you brought me to a rave.”

“Shut up. It’s not a rave,” Rhodey grinned, deliberately ignoring Tony’s bad mood.

They stood outside a meat-packing plant. Rows of shiny blacked-out windows glared down at them, a modern-day Argus Panoptes made of century-old brick and mortar. Pink smoke tendrils wafted out the entrance like tiny storm clouds accompanied by a thunderous bass line that rattled nearby car windows. The line to get in was half a mile long.

But tonight, they were line jumpers.

The bouncer was the friend of his cousin’s ex-girlfriend, someone Rhodey hadn’t seen in years. The two black men shook the _handshake_ with a one-arm hug and fist pound to the back; Rhodey and Tony walked in free of charge. Courtesy of a good ole fashioned hook-up.

Inside, blinding light beams spun like police sirens— fast and alarming. The tide of incoming clubgoers ushered them forward, further out into the sea of writhing bodies sporting glow stick necklaces. Male go-go dancers in reflective sunglasses clung to the bars of the elevated cages. Their lean asses and bulges jiggled in the nearly transparent CK underwear as they bounced up and down.

“What year is this? 1992? I can’t believe you thought this would cheer me up?”

Ugh. Tony was doing it again. He wanted to shutdown the negativity but the conversation echoed between his ears. Phone calls with his father always left him in an inescapable whirlpool of self-loathing, paranoia, and doubt. Rhodey knew this. Five hours earlier, he had stepped inside their apartment and saw the smashed cordless phone on the hardwood floor. Hence the impromptu drive away from campus for “fresh air.” In the dead of night.

He steered Tony against the tide. They weren’t here for ground floor entertainment. They climbed a flight of stairs and entered a cave of panelled mirrors. The atmosphere was eighty-two percent oxygen mixed with a heady combination of weed, baby oil, and Eau-de-Ass.

Tony inhaled. Ah, a strip club.

“You know me so well,” he smiled, shouting over the crowd.

Rhodey flirt-punched him in the arm and headed to the bar. “Oh ye of little faith. I’m getting a drink.”

Tony nodded, then did a double take at the stage.

Two blond cowboys in thongs tag-teamed a woman clutching her tacky tiara to prevent it from falling off. The hem of her babydoll dress hitched up over her bony thighs as she jutted between the two men like a key jiggled in the wrong keyhole. Her bachelorette posse whooped and bounced into each other at the front of the stage. The oldest “yee-hawed” and spun a purple underwire bra in the air.

The room cheered, nearly drowning out the Ginuwine song blaring overhead.

Rhodey jostled past three middle-aged women clutching a sweating Corona bottle to his chest.

“Wait, I thought you were the designated driver?” Tony said as he watched Rhodey guzzle the beer.

“Pssht. I drove us here. You can drive us back.”

“Not cool Rhodey. Not cool,” he glared. “You still never told me where we are.”

“The Club Haus. Only mixed gender strip club in the entire state. Hell, probably the entire country.”

Rhodey handed him the beer bottled. Tony snatched it out of his hand, put the rim to his lips, then turned the bottle upside down. A drop of foam bubbled out.

“Oh yeah, the trash can’s over there. Thanks.”

Rhodey thumbed somewhere behind him and laughed hard as Tony pretended to smash the bottle to the floor. Their behavior was childish, but this was one of the things Tony appreciated about Rhodey: distracting him from his grim thoughts. If only for a few hours.

The music faded and the Dj’s voice cut across the applause and wolf-whistles at the dark empty stage. “Alright ladies and gentlemen, get ready to take your medicine! Coming to the stage is our resident doctor and he got just the right prescription!”

The crowd cheered in anticipation as a synth drum pounded at a slow march rhythm and a yellow spotlight spun refracting in the mirrors until it landed center stage.

“Betta get those dollars out ‘cause your co-pay is due. Put your hands together for some Vitamin. Deeee!”

“Seriously, who writes these corny-ass intros?” Rhodey half-laughed, half-cringed.

Tony agreed, but was struck mute by the sight of the man on stage. The stripper spread the two folds of the curtain open looking more or less like a doctor. If your friendly-neighborhood doctor wore a glittery silver thong, stethoscope, and white lab coat. Tony stood paralysed with anticipation.

Tall and lean, he wasn’t the typical build of a stripper and the once-eager intoxicated faces turned away from the stage. The Nine Inch Nails song was a bold choice for the crowd, and yet Tony couldn’t imagine the stripper performing to anything else. Half of the women clapped politely off-beat; the rest of the crowd tittered, chatting in duos or trios as they tipped brightly-colored martinis down their throats. None of this mattered to the stripper on stage. Mid-routine, the stethoscope and lab coat was strewn on the floor. He stroked his chest and pranced around in a small circle around an imaginary pole.

Tony balked at the disrespect. If he had this man all to himself… what would he do, could he do but worship every inch of his body? Blood rushed to his groin as porntastic scenarios flickered to life in his mind’s eye.

And then something suspicious caught his real eye.

Reflected in the mirror to his left, one of the cowboys lead the rowdiest braless woman from the bachelorette party through a sparkly burgundy curtain at the far end of the bar.

“Whoa! Where are they going?” he rapped Rhodey hard on the shoulder half-hoping his guess was right.

Rhodey knocked his hand away. “Where is _who_ going?” he eyed the group of dark-skin women swaying to the beat and toasting glasses before dragging his eyes away. Tony pointed to the curtain at the back of the room and Rhodey’s mouth gaped in surprise.

“Oh shit. It’s real.”

“What is?”

“That dude Ramon at the door said something about the ‘Champagne Room’. He said whatever you do, don’t order the champagne.”

Tony perked up. “What’s wrong with the champagne?”

“Nothing, stupid. It’s not really a drink, it’s…” Rhodey leaned close and discreetly mimed a handjob.

Tony’s eyes flicked back to the stage. The stripper was in the zone. He yanked his curly brown hair enraged, inhabiting the spirit of the song and dropped to his knees. On all fours, he arched and flexed his spine, and crawled backwards exposing his ass to the crowd.

_I wanna fuck you like an animal, my whole existence is flawed. You get me closer to god!_

The lyrics screeched overhead as the stripper body-rolled gracefully to his feet, thrusting and wiggling his groin in time to the blawb-blawb of the bass line. This man wasn’t dancing for dollar bills and the earnestness intrigued Tony most of all. Ten minutes ago all he wanted to do was turn around and leave, but now he would pay anything to stay. He was compelled to say hello, to make an introduction. Never the one to resist urges, Tony did the only sensible thing.

He waved down the nearest server and shouted over the synth guitars and industrial metal rock sounds raging throughout the room—

“I want your finest bottle of champagne.”

  


A/N: Songs featured this chapter:

“Pony” by Ginuwine - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FVaVydg28Qk

“Closer” by NIN - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PTFwQP86BRs


	2. Chapter 2

Ten minutes later, Tony stood in front of those burgundy curtains, dingy and stained when viewed up close. The portly red-faced manager wagged a saliva-coated lollipop in Tony’s face.

“We got two rules, m’kay kid? One, don’t touch our girls. And two, don’t you fuckin touch our girls. You break any of dem rules and Pharoah here” —he waved the lollipop at the toffee-complexioned black man with a thick black beard— “he’s gonna kick your stupid ass from here to kingdom come. We clear?”

Tony nodded and smiled at Pharoah. The floor-length black leather jacket, stretched-out by Pharoah’s massive body, squeaked as he clasped his bowl-sized hands over his bulging stomach. Silver knuckle-rings glinted in the darkness on both hands. He didn’t smile back.

Tony’s smile faltered and he glanced back at the bar. Rhodey shook his head with his arms crossed in front of him and mouthed “dumb-ass”. Tony made a “Why you mad bro?” face and turned back to face the manager and Pharoah. After driving forty minutes outside of Cambridge, wasn’t that why they were there? To have a good time?

The manager plopped the lollipop in his mouth and snapped at the brunette waiting a few feet away. Wide-eyed, she shuffled forward clutching her server tray to hide her soft belly and the loose bra covering her small pale breasts. Tony gestured for her to stop.

“Actually, I wanted Vitamin D.”

Bushy red eyebrows rose in surprise. His lollipop almost slipped out his mouth, but the manager recovered. Afterall, money was money.

“Oh… you want Doc? Huh. Don’t worry he’ll treat you real. But dem rules still stand. You lay a finger on him and—”

“Yeah, you’ll kick my ass. Got it. This way?” Tony pointed with this thumb already headed to the dingy curtains.

The manager bumbled forward with his palm out.

“Whoa! Aye, kid. Lemme see some green.”

Tony reached in his back pocket and pulled out a black leather wallet monogrammed with the letters “A. E. S.” in gold lettering.

“And, uh, the price is doubled. You know.”

Tony was sure the upsurge in price was made up on the spot, but he wasn’t going to back out now. He held out three crisp one hundred dollar bills. “Dem the rules too?”

“Yeah,” the manager grinned stashing the bills in his pocket. “Something like that.”

 

 

The room was every bit the scene of one too many limb-chopping “interrogations” by Italian mobsters or KGB operatives. Charcoal-gray paint peeled in various spots on the walls. A light bulb hung limp from the center of the water-stained ceiling and beneath it was an armless red velvet cushioned chair, a tacky relic from Versaille— a reject throne for the disillusioned.

“I really love the decor. It has an… understated elegance,” Tony quipped. He gauged Pharoah’s reaction. Nothing. “You ever play football? You’re so…”

“Get inside.”

Tony scooched inside with a squeaky “mm-hmm!”, thoroughly intimidated. He was alone for all of a minute when the tsunami wave of doubt that crashed against the gray matter in his skull. Jesus, what was he doing here?

The curtains swished closed and heavy boot steps echoed in the room. Finally.

Tony exhaled nervously. He gaped with his arms at his side.

“Hi,” he beamed.

“You asked for me?” the stripper asked surprised. He approached slowly. The white unbuttoned polyester lab coat scraped against his bare thighs. In the silence, his every movement was deafening.

“Yeah. I did. I’m Tony. Tony Stark,” he held out his hand, but the stripper peered at it unsure what to do next.

Just as Tony let his hand fall, the man caught it and shook hard, not letting go.

“I’m... Vitamin D”

“Oh, okay. We’re using made up names?” Tony dropped his hand. “Got it. I'm… Iron Man.”

“Black Sabbath fan. Nice,” his grayish-blue eyes crinkled in a shy, but genuine smile.

Tony sighed. This man was all business, but what had he been expecting? He should have never done this. Unbidden, his father’s criticism boomed as loud as the bass had from the music two floors below. Tony shook his head at the ground. He needed to leave. Now. Sensing the awkwardness, the stripper loosened up and leaned forward conspiratorially. “We’re not really supposed to use our real names with the… clientele. ‘Gotta keep it strictly business,’” he said impersonating the manager with air quotes. “But call me Doc.”

He held out his hand again. Their eyes locked in on each other.  Tony shook his hand. The temperature warmed up slightly.

Doc gestured at the chair. “Shall we...?”

Tony’s mood rocketed. He spread his arms wide and joked in an exaggerated regal tone. “Of course Doc! Let the lap dance commence.” He tucked his body into the chair making a show of getting comfortable.

Doc blushed and frowned. Tony inwardly cringed. He was making this awkward wasn’t he? What was that Elvis Presley song? _A little less conversation, a little more action please…_ He knew he should shut up, but he didn’t know how.

“Is this your first dance?” he asked mentally kicking himself for _still_ talking.

Doc adjusted the stethoscope around his neck. “No, but it is a first with so much… lively conversation. Is this your first dance?”

Tony scoffed and feigned offense with a dismissive wave. He knew Doc didn’t buy it though. “Actually, this isn’t my thing. I just wanted to say hello.”

Doc’s eyes widened. He bit his bottom lip, held up a finger, then sliced through the curtains.

Tony clawed at his denim thighs in abject horror. Did he just creep out a male stripper? Really, was he that repulsive? Okay, repulsive was a bit dramatic for the situation. He stomped his foot on the cold cement floor.

An electronic bass drum and snare filled the room.

_I don’t want to hurt you, the reason of that is fear…_

A British female voice crooned over the beats and the tinkling music-box melody.

Music. That was what they were missing. Tony recognized the Portishead tune from Rhodey’s vinyl collection that he procured and selected from for his Sunday night playlists at the student-run campus radio station.

Doc returned. He teased the stethoscope around his neck as his hips swayed in time with the beat. His eyes were half-open, losing himself in another impromtu lip-sync performance.  He was in his element, transformed by the music.

Tony relaxed, transfixed as Doc approached in measured steps. He flung the stethoscope from his neck. His narrow hips circled in figure-eights as he slowly unbuttoned the lab jacket in front of Tony. Once opened, he slipped one shoulder free, then the other. Tony swallowed and braced himself for the lab jacket to fall to the floor. It was one thing to see Doc on the stage from a distance dancing in nothing but a thong, but up close, within arms’ reach... _Look, but don’t touch. Dem was the rules._ Tony’s heart rate sped up.

Thankfully, Doc was an honest-to-god _striptease_. He took two steps backward and turned his back to Tony. He shimmied to the floor on bended knee and draped the jacket at his elbows like a shawl. He flipped his curly bangs out of his eyes; over his shoulder, he winked at Tony.

Tony’s breath shuddered through his body. Doc’s undulating sweaty body snaked up into a standing position and his eyes zeroed in on Tony’s crouch. Painfully hard in his jeans, Tony wanted to fidget and hide the evidence, but he remained still.   _Let him see. Let him see what he’s doing to me._

Doc straddled him, just for a moment, and licked his lips. Now this, this had to be for show. This was for the _dollar-dollar bills y’all_ because there was no way Doc was as turned on by Tony as Tony was for him. Right?

Yet, there was something between them. Tony’s knuckles grazed the back of Doc’s thighs. A slave to sensation, his hips rocked forward and his crotch bumped against the warm smooth ass hovered over his lap.

He gasped embarrassed, “Sorry.”

Tony snatched his hands away and gripped the only thing left to touch: the seat of the chair. He expected Doc to punch him, to call for Pharoah, but…Doc kept dancing. If anything, he rocked harder against Tony and tossed the lab coat across the room. He leaned forward, his bow-shaped lips spread in a wide sleepy smile and sung a line of the lyrics. Hot breath tickled Tony’s face as Doc nudged him with his nose. His voice was registers below the singer and it sent electricity through Tony’s nervous system. Trembling, Tony came. The sticky warmth flooded his briefs. He gasped actually embarrassed now, but Doc kept dancing. He hung his head back exposing his long flushed neck, and let his long fingers walk down his shaven torso, ghosting over his hardened nipples until Tony’s breath evened out.

Damn. That song wasn’t longer than five minutes. Tony’s eyes fluttered open and his parched mouth wanted to both apologize and ask for a re-do. He wanted to prove he wasn’t the typical twenty-two year old “kid”.

“It’s not usually like this,” he croaked fighting the urge to re-adjust his crotch.

The song was over. A switched flipped inside. Doc the stripper, stood up and unceremoniously snatched up his props.

“Actually in my experience, it’s always like this.”

The untied laces of his black Doc Martens rapped against the cement floor as he exited through the curtains for the last time.

 

 

“Damn, you spent all that money and didn’t even…” Rhodey glanced over at Tony in the passenger seat.

“We mostly talked.”

“Talked?”

Rhodey shook his head as they sped down a nearly empty I-80. They were five minutes away from their exit. Tony bounced his head hard against the uncomfortable headrest.

“Well? Did you at least enjoy it?” Rhodey flipped the turn signal and swerved around a car driving ten miles below the speed limit, which meant it was thirty miles slower than Rhodey’s squeaky Toyota Corolla.

Tony sniffed and crossed his arms. “Absolutely. Highly educational.”

“More like dickucational.”

Tony flicked Rhodey’s ear and they both laughed.

“Seriously. It’s not my thing,” Tony lied, already strategically planning his next trip. Without Rhodey.

“Yeah. Ok.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song featured this chapter:
> 
> “It Could Be Sweet” by Portishead - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y1A4cgPSGZ8


	3. Chapter 3

Nineteen phone calls later and Tony Stark found the address and phone number to The Club Haus with the notorious “Champagne Room”. It hadn’t occurred to him at the start of his search that “House” was in German (Thanks Rhodey); his previous attempts had all been to pre-school and nursery school aptly titled “Club House”.

Instead of grabbing coldcut sandwiches from the Korean deli across from the AI lab with Rhodey and Bruce, Tony had sprinted to the southern end of the MIT campus. Renovated in the early 80s, the joint student center and food court had a wall of phone booths equipped with diner-style red stools and sliding doors. The Yellow Pages were chained to the metal tray of the payphone. On the other end of the line was an unprofessional receptionist who hacked her lungs away as she flipped through the club’s dancer schedules.

“What’s the name hon?” she asked for the fourth time.

“Vitamin D,” Tony said through clenched teeth.

She wouldn’t give Tony Doc’s real name (he never expected her to) and reluctantly she gave him the nights he was scheduled to perform. But only because Tony agreed to “treat him something special” and tip generously. As annoyed as he was, he didn’t care. Now he knew when and where he could see Doc again. He was perfectly fine waiting in line to get in each time, like a regular _male_ paying customer. Even if it meant waiting an hour or more to walk through the door when clusters of women were merrily ushered in by various doormen.

By his fifth visit, Tony knew the stage routines, the corny DJ intros, and the drink menu. Female servers were more relaxed with him because he tipped generously and had a creep factor of negative zero. Yet, there was one server, Caramel (she pronounced it “Car’mel” in a perky twang), who didn’t get the hint from the other dancers about Tony’s repeat visits. It was only after he had asked one too many questions about “Vitamin D” that her megawatt gameshow host smile dimmered as she slunk away embarrassed, the way nineteen year old girls do when forced to stand down, unable to compete with a man for another man’s attention.

That night however, Caramel was all smiles. ”The Mirror Room”, as regulars affectionately dubbed the second floor of The Club Haus, was packed with thirsty tip-friendly customers earlier than usual. She bumped into Tony, all traces of her crush gone, took his order and left to get his usual. Tony leaned against a hightop table far from the stage in observation mode only. He needed to work up the nerve to see Doc again, to hear that tiny (imaginary) voice reassure him that the pale-eyed stripper felt the same. Caramel set down the gin and tonic with two lime slices and a napkin and leaned in close.

“Another rough week huh?”

“Nothing a little entertainment can’t fix,” he winked and sipped his drink.

He nearly choked.

Behind her in the distance, Doc weaved through the crowd in his lab coat buttoned up. She followed Tony’s line of sight and waved enthusiastically, bouncing on the pads of her stilettos.

“Hey Stephen!” Look who’s here,” she shouted over the music.

It was too late to duck. Doc—no, Stephen’s head whipped over in their direction with frightening accuracy. His gray eyes locked on Tony and widened. A furious blush erupted from Tony’s chest to his scalp. His skin tingled, overcome with restlessness. Based off Stephen’s unreadable expression, Tony fully expected him to turn and walk the other way, to roll his eyes and sigh about having to make nice with the clientele. That’s what Tony was now: the dreaded repeat customer. Only good for one thing.

Tony did not expect him to smile and head over in his direction.

“Back again?” Stephen greeted. He ducked his head and leaned over slightly, but maintained a deliberate distance.

His voice sent a shiver through Tony and he gripped the glass of gin for dear life.

“Didn’t think you’d remember me?”

“I could hardly forget.”

Tony’s mouth flopped open. Huh. So he _did_ notice. A balloon of hope inflated in Tony’s chest, but he played it cool and took a shallow sip.

“So, it’s Stephen, right? Busy night?” Well almost.

Stephen tightened his lips, then relaxed as if he changed his mind at the last moment. “Goodnight Tony. Don’t be a stranger.”

His hand brushed Tony’s as he passed and weaved through the crowd to the end of the bar. He stopped at the dingy black curtains and followed an older woman who blew him a kiss leading the way. A real repeat customer.

 

 

The red dot switched to lime-green as Tony swiped his student ID against the grey card reader outside the lab entrance. He spun his key ring around a finger and whistled, side-shuffling inside to an imaginary Cha-Cha beat.

He had a name. And that name remembered his name. It was all he could think about all night. _Stephen remembered me. More importantly, he wants me to come back._

Rhodey hunched over the soldering iron station carefully adjusting a dial as he applied the soldering tweezer to a circuit.  The two bulky computer monitors beeped and one scrolled lines of blurred code lines. Tony hummed, and spun performing a one-man waltz.

“Okay I’ll bite. Who’s got you in a good mood?”

Rhodey lifted up his goggles and swung the spindly magnifier lamp out of the way, half annoyed, half curious. Tony plopped into the roller chair next to him. He launched himself from one shiny white desk then back to Rhodey’s side, grateful that the lab was empty for once on a Saturday morning.

“What makes you think it’s a someone?”

Rhodey kicked Tony.

“Ow! I'm serious. I could've discovered a new line of code for the rescue bots.”

“You could have. Not that it matters since I actually found our bug. Check this out.”

Tony hopped up alert. He rested his chin on Rhodey’s shoulder, his eyes examined the white lines of code on the black screen.“Shit,” he straightened up. “Did you just…?”

“Yup,” Rhodey crossed his arms, proud of his (maybe) second time of outsmarting Tony. “And don’t try to change the subject. Who’s the girl? Guy? Guy. Who is he, and don’t ask me how I know. Gone every other night and sneaking back in at 2am. Now you’re dancing and humming. Something’s up.”

Tony backed away, putting distance between them. Rhodey squinted suspicious.

“Wait a minute! Do I know him? It’s not… Bruce?”

They both cringed.

“Rhodey c’mon. Give me a little more credit.”

“I mean… you do fuck indiscriminately,” Rhodey fell back against the chair laughing and wiped a tear from his eye that Tony was sure was for theatrical purposes.

Tony stuck out his tongue. Part of him wanted to wait Rhodey out and let it turn into a guessing game. Maybe if Rhodey came up with a satisfactory suggestion, Tony could pretend that it was the truth. But why bother? Rhodey always figured out the truth in the end. So he told him.

Rhodey reacted exactly the way Tony imagined he would. And so did Tony.

“I get it! Spare me the lecture. Y’ know, I came to you as a friend. To share good news.”

“What? That a stripper said you were cute? That’s not good news. That’s a sales pitch.”

“Just for the record, he hasn’t asked me for anything.”

Rhodey scoffed. “From the sound of it, he doesn’t need to. As long as he wags his ass in your lap,  you just go bottoms up.”

Tony paced massaging the stubble on his chin. “I hear you. I really do, but can I ask you one serious question?”

Rhodey sighed. Nothing was ever serious with Tony. “What?”

“Why do you always assume I’m the one bottoming all the time?”

Rhodey leaped out of his chair grossed out. “Tony I’m serious. If you’re not careful, you’re gonna get played man.”

Tony winced at the sincerity in Rhodey’s voice. “Are you done?”

“Oh I'm sorry. This too real for you?”

“If you mean _real_ annoying, then yeah.”

Rhodey nodded moving his tongue in his mouth as if he was trying to dislodge food from his teeth. He sat back down and turned on the magnifying lamp over the circuit board.

“Whatever. Just remember—girls aren’t the only ones who break hearts. Guys do that shit too.”


	4. Chapter 4

 

Marco, the Wednesday night doorman, nodded as Tony stepped in. Electronic pop music drowned out his footsteps as he ascended the metal grate staircase to the _Mirror Room_.

But the music couldn’t drown out Rhodey’s words. It hung between his ears like a verbal fog bank. The worst part was that a large part of Tony knew Rhodey wasn’t entirely wrong. Sure, Stephen could be toying with him for cash. He had time to ask around, to confirm that Tony was The Anthony Stark, son of Stark Industries founder and billionaire Howard Stark. He certainly knew Tony had a bonafide crush and exhibited no qualms about spending money for a weekly peek.

The other part of Tony knew that Rhodey wasn’t entirely right either. He refused to believe that Stephen only saw him as just another rich boy just getting his rocks off. His gut instinct (and maybe something lower) said otherwise.

Tony was ready to know the truth.

The room was warmer than the last time he was there. Tony sat with his mouth parted in surprise, disbelief, and most of all— relief.

He shivered aroused. Stephen stood before him in a glittery red thong, his black boots, and nothing else. A slow twanging tune wafted overhead. His narrow hips gyrated in time with the song Tony did not recognize. Distracted by the sight of Stephen’s oiled-pecs and abs, he gulped as Stephen rocked his hip forward, a well-timed dick-flick as cymbals crashed in the song. Tony shifted in his seat. His brown eyes snapped to the thick irresistible bulge, held only from view by the flimsiest material. A hideous thought crossed his mind: how easy would it be for any creep, any asshole with a ‘fuck-the-rules’ mentality to just rip it off and have Stephen right there on the floor? Rage spoiled the lust pooled up in his groin.

Why was Stephen putting himself at risk like this? Didn’t he know he deserved better? Too beautiful and too talented to be there?

“Look, I don’t want to be rude, but what are you doing here? Seriously.”

Stephen lowered his arms and bent at the waist. He was nose-to-nose with Tony.

“Occasionally, I give special performances to cute boys who don’t make a grab at my ass the first chance they get.”

“So you think I’m cute?”

Stephen huffed a laugh, but lowered his voice as if he feared being told off for actually having fun. He stood up, so close to Tony that their knees bumped. His slim long fingers tickled the five o’clock shadow across Tony’s chin.

“I’m not nearly as good at stroking people’s ego as I am stroking…” his hand dropped down to the fly of Tony’s black chino pants.

With zen-like reflexes, Tony clasped Stephen’s wrist. “You don’t need to,” he whispered.

“But you ordered ‘champagne’. Again.”

It would be too easy to let Stephen continue, but Tony blinked up at him and shook no. Stephen, maintaining eye contact, insistently tugged Tony’s hand up and placed it on his sternum. His knee nudged Tony’s legs apart, one at a time with zero resistance. Instinctively, Tony wanted to snatch his hand away. No touching. Those were the rules _for him_. His fingertips pressed gently into Stephen; curious, he slid his hand over to pinch Stephen’s nipple and was rewarded with a hiss and sigh. Without warning Stephen pirouetted out of reach, his boots squeaked to a stop with his back to Tony.

It was a blur, but Tony saw it. Stephen was just as hard as he was.

It took everything to not come right then and there. Especially when Stephen backed up against him and used his lap as a chair, his ass deliciously grinded in slow-metered circles.

“I’m glad you came back.”

“You are?” Tony croaked, impressed he was still capable of stringing two words together.

Stephen grinded harder, his full weight pressed down now, and he scooted back so far that Tony’s nose smushed against his spine. He grabbed Tony’s hand and latched it back on to his nipple. Tony, recognizing the hard small nub, moaned into Stephen’s back. This wasn’t breaking the rules, right? He was just a willing participant, like a volunteer called from the audience during a magician’s act. Giving into his desire, his tongue licked a wide patch of skin and deliberately cooled the spot with his breath. Stephen shivered in response and Tony replied with kisses on his spine watching Stephen’s shoulder blades retract and flex in pleasure.

The pace quickened. Tony’s thighs and hips rocked in sync with Stephen’s ass. He allowed Stephen to guide his hand down Stephen’s torso and onto his wriggling crotch lightly. An invitation. Which Tony accepted without hesitation. His fingers wrapped around the scratchy fabric and not-so-gently squeezed Stephen’s balls, playfully ignoring the hardness that nudged against his arm. The two of them grinded harder, muffling their grunts between closed lips. Tony’s erection tented his pants and poked the small gap between Stephen’s ass, with only the soft cotton fabric of his pants separating the two of them. Tony stilled. His muscled arms clutched Stephen’s waist, fully wrapped around his hands clasped in front, as if he was performing a very unhelpful Heimlich maneuver. His chin-length hair, damp with sweat, was plastered between his face and Stephen’s back. He jerked twice and then huffing ragged breaths, relaxed his arms. They slumped to his side like deflated balloons.

This time there was no rush to leave the room, even with the song over. Stephen remained in Tony’s lap, no longer gyrating, but he twisted and looked over his shoulder to smile at Tony, slouched against the chair in a post-orgasmic daze. Finally, he hoisted himself from Tony’s lap and cupped his groin, trying to hide the wet spot on the fabric that wasn’t wet by sweat.

“I-I want to see you again,” Tony blurted, not caring that he sounded whiny and needy.

Stephen stood between his thighs and peered down at him with a hard stare. “Really? How much?”

Tony blinked hard and shoved down Rhodey’s warning in his mind’s ear. “Anything. Doesn’t matter.”

“Too bad. I’m not for sale.”

Stephen sneered and his shoulders drooped, looking as exhausted and deflated as Tony, only more disappointed. He distanced himself and collected his lab coat off the floor while Tony’s brain scrambled, wondering what the hell went wrong in thirty seconds. Stephen was almost through the curtains when Tony leaped up and rushed to him.

“I didn’t mean it as an insult. I just… how can I see you again? Outside of this place.”

The tacky curtain swished open and Pharoah’s wide-set black eyes zeroed in on one thing—

Tony’s hand seized around Stephen’s wrist. Shit.

“Hands motherfucker! The fuck we say about hands!” he hollered in a thick Louisiana accent as he propelled his body into the room.

Stephen wrenched himself free of Tony’s slackened grip and held out both palms. “Marcus, it’s alright—”

“No the fuck it ain't!”

Stephen shielded Tony from view, but Tony leaned over and gave Pharoah a friendly wave. “Marcus? What’s up with all the code names?” he joked trying to diffuse the situation.

Stephen huffed over his shoulder: “Not. Helping.”

  


Tony sat on the curb and held a wad of brown paper towels against his nose to stop the bleeding. He was the sixth person so far to be banned from the “establishment” and the manager made a show-stopping spectacle of chucking him out.

Baby-pink high heels clik-clacked against the pavement and Tony tilted his head, angling for a better view. Caramel shook her head at him then squatted next to him. Her bedazzled faux-leather purse squeaked as it rubbed between her spandex halter top and skin-tight jeans.

“Ouch. I would offer to kiss it but…” she smacked watermelon BubbleYum gum and flipped her dye-blond bangs out of her face. “Well, don’t say I never did anything nice for ya.” She pecked his cheek and tucked a folded note in his free hand.

Tony stared as she walked away then sniffed tentatively. The bleeding had stopped. He unfolded the torn sheet of lined notebook paper and read the note scrawled in purple ink. Twice. 

_If you want a medical opinion about your nose, give me a call._

_-Stephen Strange 430-4953_


	5. Chapter 5

“Tell me again why you thought my name began with the letter D?” 

“Wipe that smug look off your face. I get it. Vitamin D. D for doctor.”

The smug look got even "smugier". Stephen bumped their shoulders. “Silly rabbit. The D was for dicks.”

They both snorted stepping apart slightly only to fall back in line, strolling next to each other at an unhurried pace. It had taken every ounce of self-restraint Tony possessed to not call Stephen later that night after he was banned from The Club Haus. He managed to wait a full 36 hours, in spite of Rhodey’s judgmental silence after spotting the note on their kitchen counter (and Tony’s bruised nose) while Tony scrambled eggs for breakfast.

All doubt was erased and Tony knew he had made the right decision when Stephen answered after three rings in a huffy tone: “Took you long enough.”

They agreed to meet two days later outside a cafe mid-way between their schools. By car, Tufts University was only 17 minutes away from the most northern part of MIT’s campus (10 minutes if Tony drove as fast as Rhodey). Neither of them could believe they had spent nearly four years in the state of Massachusetts and had never met until now.

Tony arrived ten minutes early and as he waited in front of Roxy’s Cafe, a ridiculous amount of paranoia flooded his brain. What if he didn’t recognize Stephen with his clothes on? What if they had nothing to talk about? What if Stephen realized Tony wasn’t his type?

Or worse, what if he didn’t show at all?

But he had. Tony exhaled relieved at the sight of Stephen turning the corner, unbothered by the gust of wind that fluttered his “We Sold Our Soul for Rock’n’Roll” t-shirt and whipped his lovable mess of curls on top of his head. Tony smiled immediately getting the reference and hopped on his toes impatiently as Stephen’s Chucks slapped the pavement. He stepped right up to Tony, surefooted about being in his personal space. Tony was too wired to actually drink coffee, so Stephen (equally nervous but doing a better job of hiding it) suggested they go for a walk instead.

The physical activity bypassed Tony’s anxiety and they found themselves deep in casual conversation oblivious to the many blocks traveled. Tony grilled him on every aspect of his life. Stephen gave detailed answers about growing up on his parents’ small farm in Nebraska; Donna, his younger sister who drowned in the lake one evening after an aneurysm burst in her brain which sealed his fate to become a neurosurgeon; and how he cried when he had to decline Harvard’s acceptance because Tuft University had offered him a full-ride as a pre-med major.

Stephen was equally curious about Tony’s life, keenly impressed with his ambitious A.I. prototypes developed for search-and-retrieve missions after earthquakes. He nodded solemnly, not interrupting as Tony spoke for the first time about what happened to him in Turkey. The horrific memory of standing useless as the cries of children buried in the rubble of a collapsed school echoed in the hot stale Turkish wind. And how in the quietest moments of his days or nights, Tony still heard those phantom cries begging to be saved.

“Which is why they’d focus on the largest CO₂ concentration to find the victims faster. Not sound,” Stephen said finishing Tony’s sentence.

“Yeah. Exactly.”

Tony didn’t remember stopping, but they had. Just to look at each other and smile impressed and awed. Of course Stephen would get what Tony’s father didn’t: the need to use their resources and wealth to save lives. A connection that Tony had mistakenly thought he found in someone else long ago was now made with Stephen Strange. A stripper from Nebraska studying to be a doctor. It was insane, but here they were.

His smile faltered as he thought The Thought: But for how long?

“So what’s next? After graduation, are you staying at TU for med school or...?” he asked immediately wishing he hadn’t.

Stephen sighed. “Nope. I get a chance to rack up all of my student loan debt at Columbia this fall.”

“Columbia? In New York?”

Stephen sucked in his bottom lip and nodded. He clearly wasn’t ready to divulge that bit of intel just yet. Tony blinked at the yellow bulbs bursting to life in the silver lamp posts lining the street.

“Ok. Congratulations,” he said not really meaning it. He flashed Stephen a “what can you do?” smile.

“Thanks. I’d love to stay here, but Columbia offered the best financial aid.”

“Guess you gotta go where the money is.”

It was petty, snarky, and a low-blow. Tony’s eyes clamped shut. Hard with regret.

Stephen backed away. “Excuse me?”

“That came out wrong,” Tony pleaded in earnest taking a step forward.

Stephen raised an eyebrow with his arms crossed. “Did it?”

“Yes. I… I’m impressed with everything you’re doing and _why_ you’re doing it. None of it’s easy to do—”

“—Without a silver spoon shoved down my throat? You’re goddamn right.” Stephen shook his head at the indigo sky and grunted. “And what the hell would you know about it? Jesus, you rich kids are all the same,” he snarled walking past Tony.

Tony clutched his chest; his brain frantically figured out how to smother the pot fire he started. He sped up and cupped Stephen’s elbow insistently. Tony didn’t think he would stop, but Stephen spun around glaring, reluctant to listen to Tony’s bullshit excuse. Tony took a deep breath. He had one chance to fix this.

“That was rude. I, was rude, but let’s get this out of the way. Yeah, I come from money and I don’t know what it’s like to have my life limited by price. It was a really shitty thing to say, but I swear I wasn’t judging you about ‘work’ or going to Columbia,” he said inhaling fast. “It sucks. I meet you six weeks before graduation and you’re moving to New York in a couple of months. I wish we had more time because... you’re not just a pretty face.” He slid his hand down Stephen’s arm and held his hand.

Stephen narrowed his eyes at Tony, scrutinizing the earnestness of his speech. Tony willed himself not to blush, but he felt the traitorous heat rise beneath his skin. Never had he felt so _seen_. Even when angry, pinned under the gaze of Stephen Strange was amazing, yet here he was: already fucking it up in less than two hours of them getting to know each other. His stomach gurgled as the possibility of Stephen dropping his hand, walking away, and never speaking to him became more real the longer Stephen stared.

And then Tony felt the pressure of Stephen’s hand squeezing his before relaxing his grip and threading his fingers in between Tony’s.

“So you think I’m pretty?” Stephen asked.

  


A miniature brass bell tinkled overhead as they stepped out of the harsh fluorescent lighting of the ice cream parlor and through a small horde of teenage girls loitering on the store steps. They walked in step once again; their knuckles brushed up against each other on the slightly crowded sidewalk.  The quiet of the early evening was marred by clunky car motors that squeaked by, drowning out the buzz of insects hidden in the hooded darkness of the trees.

Stephen licked his ice cream cone and whispered into Tony’s ear. “It’s getting late.”

Lost in thought and completely missing the playful tone, Tony’s face dropped, incapable of masking his disappointment.

“Oh, I have a busy day..”  “My place is closer.”

They spoke at the same time.

“If you’re busy…” Stephen said quickly saving face.

“Nah, routine lab stuff. Rhodey and Bruce… they’re, they’ll be fine…” Tony waved nonchalantly. “So, you’re place is closer huh?” He smiled and tossed his waffle cone over his shoulder licking his fingers. His appetite for something distinctively sensuous flooded his body.

“You just littered.”

“I like to think of it as composting on-the-go,” Tony fluttered his eyelashes.

Stephen laughed, then tossed his ice cream. “Follow me.”

“Gladly.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The number six in Swedish is spelled S-E-X and that’s what you’re getting this chapter!

 

The tiny apartment was sparsely furnished and immaculate.

“Wong flew back to Nepal for the rest of the week. We definitely won’t be interrupted,” Stephen said, shy for the first time as Tony walked around the shared space that doubled as a study. He maneuvered around piles of books stacked nearly around a worn couch. Stephen crossed the room, turned on a floor lamp, and tossed his keys on the plank of wood nailed to the wall. Makeshift bookshelves filled one side of the wall, mainly consisting of thick medical volumes with gold lettering on the spine. Tony zeroed in on the music section; his fingers scrolled over the rows of neatly categorized CDs and the sad used CD player that should have called it quits months ago.

“Rhodey’s the only person I know with this much music,” he said.

“Well, now you know two people.”

Stephen jammed his hands into his faded blue jean pockets but they were too shallow to fit his entire hand. Tony noticed his reddened knuckles poking out. Stephen was nervous.

They both were.

“You want anything to drink? I’ve got—”

Tony silenced him with a kiss. It was a bold move, but they’d talked enough for one night. Stephen stumbled off-balance, but regained his footing and kissed Tony harder than expected. Tony loved it. The frenetic sloppy kissing, stumbling into the walls of the unlit narrow hallway, the messy trail of kicked off sneakers and t-shirts on the floor. Stephen didn’t bother with lights. They shimmied out of their jeans and socks in the striped glow of the orange gold street lights dissected by the open window blinds.

They stood before each other panting: Tony in bright blue briefs, Stephen in black boxers. Tony fell onto the bed enjoying Stephen’s aggressive lead. He watched him rush to the shabby closet sliding door and rummage through a plastic white bag with red letters on the front. He turned around triumphant: two black condom packets in one hand, a small cone-shaped bottle of lube in the other. Of course. Why hadn’t he thought of that? The last thing he wanted Stephen to think was that he was a fuckboy who didn’t use protection.

“I didn’t forget y’know. Didn’t want to presume.”

“You really are cute when you’re nervous. Thank you.”

“F-For what?”

“For not assuming you’d fuck me tonight.”

“Hmph. Bold of you to assume that I wouldn’t be the one getting fucked,” Tony whispered grinning.

Stephen grinned back, but spoke in a serious tone. “I honestly don’t care either way, so if you really want to fuck me, don’t be too gentle about it.”

Stephen’s pale body glimmered in the dark. The stripey orange street light and blue-black shadow rippled around his slow-approaching form as if he were a sorcerer entering from another dimension. Tony’s throat burned from desire (and real thirst) as he leaned back on his outstretched arms, too far for it to be comfortable to keep Stephen’s body in full view. He could fuck him tonight, but why rush it? They’ve got time. This sure as hell was not a one-night stand.

“Next time?” Tony whispered.

He gazed up at Stephen hoping that the implications were clear. Stephen’s bright eyes widened surprised before they crinkled as he smiled, keen to take the lead for tonight because that meant Tony wasn’t greedy or a control freak.

Tony could take it as well as he gave.

Stephen bent over at the waist and kissed Tony. He tossed the condoms and lube on the saggy mattress and dropped to his knees, spreading apart Tony’s thighs with his massive steady hands. He closed his eyes as Tony’s fingertips grazed over his shoulders, dipped into the shallow valleys of his collarbone before they slid up his neck, and finally smoothed over his chin to explore the features of his face like a blind man reading Braille. Tony’s fingers paused over Stephen’s lips, speechless at the sight of him on his knees. He didn’t know what Stephen wanted next or if he was impatient with Tony’s meandering and too shy or polite to say so. Before he could ask, Stephen kissed his fingers, then his palm.

They locked eyes and Stephen swallowed three fingers, deep to the back of his throat. His tongue divided each finger, spreading them apart to coat each one in saliva until they were slick and sticky.  He stood up and shoved Tony on his back. Tony flopped and bounced against the mattress allowing him to remove the last piece of clothing between them. The flimsy mattress creaked and groaned; the spring coils rebelled in protest against the pressure and weight of two bodies instead of one as Stephen climbed over Tony. He kissed Tony harder and grabbed the wet fingers placing them just past his balls to his tight hole. Confused, Tony broke off the kiss.

“I thought… so you want me to…?”

It was about as coherent as he could be with his dick flopping in the air against his left thigh, his one free hand massaging Stephen’s ass.

“I told you. I like that you don’t assume,” Stephen gasped as he tugged Tony’s fingers insistently and gently worked them inside him, “I’ve been prepping myself for two days. Just for you.”

“But you’re so tight.”

“Lucky you.”

Tony marvelled in awe and tried to swallow the spit dribbling down his chin, but Stephen licked his chin, his lips, and kissed him again. Absolutely filthy.

And then it hit Tony like a punch in the dick: Stephen spent two days preparing himself _for him_. Without any guarantee that they would actually see each other again.

Tony snatched up the lube and slipped out his fingers (gleefully ignoring Stephen’s pout) to properly lubricate them because holy shit—Stephen wanted him as much as he wanted Stephen. He blinked hard trying to concentrate on what his hands were doing, but knowing that he was wanted, desired, thought about, fantasized about… his hands trembled slightly from the adrenaline and blood rushing to his groin. He tossed the bottle to the side, dragged Stephen into his lap and held him in place as he pushed a lubricated finger inside. Stephen groaned and dug his short nails painfully into Tony’s back.

“Give me another,” he ordered, rocking his hips, wiggling his ass up and down.

“You didn’t say the magic word.”

But Stephen wasn’t having none of it. He grunted and yanked Tony’s hair at the back of his head. “I need more. Give it to me.”

Tony gasped, even more turned on and obeyed because of course—

Stephen fucking Strange was a goddamn power bottom.

Tony laughed to himself working two more fingers inside, but achingly slow just to tease Stephen, make him beg. Which he did. Tony bit his lip as Stephen’s head lolled back, breathing heavy as he rocked faster, greedy for more.

“Slow down. I got something bigger than these fingers.”

“Tony, shut up and just fuck me,” Stephen snapped his head forward, his curly bangs flung sweat at Tony, splattering his face and chest. “Please?”

Well, he did say the magic word.

Tony’s hand were too slippery to open the condom. Stephen snatched it out of his hands eager to put it on his thick dick.

With his mouth.

Christ. Tony didn’t know how long he could possibly last after Stephen eased down on his shaft, working his ass frantically; his nails left crescent-shaped reddened impressions deep on Tony’s back. All Tony could do was hold tight to Stephen’s gyrating body. His hands flitted indecisively from Stephen’s ass up to his waist then down to the back of Stephen’s sweaty knees.

Stephen came. He gritted his teeth, his eyes squeezed shut as his face deceitfully contorted in pain. Thick glazed white spurts shot out on his chest, Tony’s abs and thighs, before trickling into a puddle of the sheets. Tony clutched Stephen to him and head-butted him when he finally came, immensely grateful to have lasted long enough for Stephen to come first. It was just common courtesy. They embraced each other until the last shuddering breaths eased into calm sighs. Stephen rested his sweaty forehead against Tony’s, combed back his damp chin-length hair off his face, and placed a light kiss on each of Tony’s eyes. Then he slid out of bed and waddled to the bathroom down the hall. Tony’s body slumped down like a gelatinous blob slinking out of a bowl to lie on his back thoroughly satiated.

  
  


The clean up was quiet and matter of fact. Stephen rested on his stomach, a hair’s-length away from Tony resting on his side. Propped up on his elbow, he massaged Stephen’s scalp, enjoying his pleasurable hum in response. He smiled down at him, relaxed, unguarded, and blissfully naked. He didn’t want to break the silence, to cut the steamy atmosphere with needy questions.

But, Tony needed to know.

“You don't really date your clients right?”

Stephen stilled. Tony cringed and crossed his toes. Why couldn’t he just keep his mouth shut and enjoy The Moment?

“You were banned from coming back, ergo you are no longer a client.”

Stephen lifted his head off his arms to peek at Tony with one eye when he didn’t respond with a smart-ass remark. He flung a leg over Tony’s and they engaged in a silent leg wrestle until Stephen turned over onto his side wincing slightly, propped up by his elbow with his head resting in his hand.

“This was nice. But just for the record, no, I don’t do this. Never actually.”

Tony exhaled relieved and shushed Stephen with a kiss. “I know. I figured.”

Stephen pulled back. “You couldn’t possibly know. We barely know each other.”

Tony knew that. His hand stroked Stephen’s rib cage to his hip bone poking out under his skin, stalling for the right words to keep things “casual.”

“But I’d like to keep getting to know you,” Stephen admitted. “Yes, I’ll be at Columbia in the fall, but… New York’s not so far from here.”

“A direct flight is only an hour and twenty-five minutes.” Tony whispered. Relief surged through his exhausted body.

He easily envisioned it: a shiny metal tower with Stark Industries beaming in the sun. Not just another skyscraper in the crowded New York skyline, but a place that defined New York. Yes, he could create a local branch downtown, finally living up to his father’s desire to actively take part in the family business.  And only a stone’s throw away from one of the country’s renowned hospital centers for neurology.

“Actually, I was just thinking it’s time to get some fresh air,” he said way too casually. “Y’know, get away from the hallowed halls of MIT.”

Stephen’s face lit up. “Really? It’s that easy for you?”

“When it’s about you, yeah.”

Tony spread his arm out to tuck Stephen closer to his chest. His eyes fluttered shut and he sighed into Stephen’s hair. His mind whirled with millions of future possibilities, but his heart focused on only one.

 

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what did you think? Was the pacing off? Did I take too long to get to the smutty center of the tootsie roll? I don't really have their voices completely locked down, but I sort of wrote my own versions of Tony and Stephen in this AU.
> 
> I know a lot of other people has written this type of story, so hopefully this isn't too boring.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed reading!


End file.
